Never Seen a Bluer Sky
by Moonlit Aria
Summary: An end-of-summer visit before their fifth year of school allows Ron to put his emotions into words. [ R/Hr -- what else? ]
1. Viktor's a Fourletter Word

  
  


**[** Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_, the characters mentioned within this work of fanfiction, nor any of the locations mentioned. All are created (or fantasised) by J.K. Rowling and are under copyright. No infringement is intended. Also, the title for this fanfiction comes from 'Cowboy Bebop,' which I do not own and is also copyrighted. No further infringement intended. **]  
  
** **[** Really, this came of my own inspiration at about 1 AM last night, but I'd like to thank my favorite author -- Finding Beauty -- for sharing her plot bunnies, which were on caffeine overload this morning and apparently mating at the speed of light. It was quite helpful in turning this would be vignette into the lengthy chapter story I was hoping for to get me started in seriously writing fanfiction. **]**  
  
  
  
  


**Never Seen a Bluer Sky**   
  
  


It was a pleasantly warm and breezy day in Ottery St. Catchpole; it seemed that the storm clouds which had threatened the previous day and all through the night were driven back by the first, brilliant light of the sun and replaced with less foreboding clouds of white. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, holding a depth of clarity that was rarely seen in the typically dismal gray of the England sky.  
  
The Burrow, one of the largest and most strange houses within range of the small village, was already a bustle of unaccustomed excitement, though the sun had barely risen over the eastern horizon. It was the thirty-first day of August, which perhaps _did_ make the excitement customary, though the hustle of the large house was not due to the typical rush of packing that came with the day before the beginning of the first term of school. This thirty-first of August, the Weasleys were having a special sort of guests: Muggles. Not just any sort of Muggles, mind, but the Grangers.  
  
Molly Weasley, a short and rather plump woman, had gone promptly to the post office in Ottery St. Catchpole several days before and repeated a process she had done nearly a year earlier -- the perfectly penned and polite letter was inserted into an envelope and an assorted many (what the Muggles liked to call) _postage stamps_ were placed upon the cover, leaving just enough space for the Grangers' address. The postal worker at the office had given her little assistance the year before when she asked about postage to Little Whinging, Surrey, so she doubted he would give her much assistance this year. Thus, Mrs. Weasley -- who felt it was quite better to go overboard than not have her invitation delivered at all -- proceeded to cover the envelope with these so-called stamps of postage, leaving it with the laughing postal worker to be delivered.  
  
Apparently, as Molly discovered through trial and error, the more 'postage stamps' placed upon an envelope, the faster it was delivered to the given address -- or, the Muggle Post was almost (though not quite) as efficient as the normal way -- as a reply from the Grangers arrived at the Burrow merely two days later, delivered by a very reliable, but haughty, brown owl. As the letter explained, much to Molly's own delight, the Grangers had been talked into buying an owl by their daughter to make communication between them easier while she was away at Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley, of course, found this course of action very commendable for Muggles.  
  
The thirty-first day of August was set in the invitation as a day in which the two families would finally have a chance to meet one another, though it also explained (if the Granger family was interested) that Harry would be unable to join them as well, let alone his family, due to orders from Dumbledore. Though the letter declined to mention, Privet Drive was apparently as safe as Hogwarts itself when it came to Harry and You-Know-Who.  
  
  
"I was thinking of asking them how to work that felly-tone invention of theirs," Arthur, the balding head of the Weasley household, announced over breakfast. "I reckon it doesn't matter as they've gotten themselves an owl, but it's a marvelous invention nonetheless. Amazing things Muggles come up with to get along without magic." It was his usual babbling, to which the family had declined to listen much to.  
  
"That lovely dear offered to help me with the cooking, Arthur, wasn't that nice?" Molly interrupted his babbling of Muggle things (which she didn't rightly enjoy to hear after that incident with the Ford Anglia) with a question, as she seated herself at the breakfast table. However, this only served to throw Arthur into a babbling tangent over Muggle cooking devices -- they have mikerwavs and benders, he announced to the five redheaded children seated around the table.  
  
Ron, who was neither paying attention to his father's excitement over having real, live Muggles in the house (as if he were a child going to a zoo to see a Hippogriff) nor paying much more attention to his breakfast, stared at the arrangement of food on his plate and began to wonder _how_ on earth he was ever going to survive a day like today. It was difficult enough to survive nearly two weeks of having Hermione in his house the year before, but how in the world was he supposed to survive meeting her parents? He was probably known to them at the little red-haired boy who had made their daughter's life at Hogwarts absolute hell through constant arguments and trouble-making. Not to mention, he had never quite forgiven her for being a traitor.  
  
"Staring at your food won't make it Apparate into your stomach," Ginny whispered at his elbow, barely audible over her father's excited jabber about some device that Muggles used to keep their food cold (all the talk of Muggles and cooking had caused her mother to turn rather pale, obviously wondering of Mrs. Granger's assistance in her kitchen would be a help or hindrance).  
  
Ron gave his sister a withered look, suddenly too sick at his stomach by the lead weight dropped into it to even feign annoyance at her. "I wasn't _trying_ to, I was just thinking."  
  
"About Hermione?" her big brown eyes were vivid with an excitement Ron wasn't quite able to place, though he was sure he had seen it before.  
  
"No," he answered all too abruptly, causing her to stifle a giggle at the obvious lie which slipped defensively from his lips. "I . . . well, er, I was just thinking that you two better keep busy today. She annoys me."  
  
The youngest Weasley, however, simply shook her head and went back to her breakfast, not even bothering to hide the grin which formed upon her face. After a moment, she spoke up again, though still not over the chatter of the crowded table (as Percy had since changed the topic to his new assignment at work -- crooked broomsticks), "Because of _Krum_?" Ginny inquired, not even attempting to tiptoe around the sensitive subject. Ron had been unsettled by Viktor Krum since the Yule Ball and, though he might not have realized the cause himself, Ginny would readily admit that she was far better on the uptake than her thickskulled brother.  
  
Freckled face and ears slowly turned a shade of the color he most hated, suiting him not at all, as he struggled to find an answer to the question which annoyingly hit home. It was useless, he finally accepted, to attempt to hide anything from Miss Virginia Weasley. After chewing at his bottom lip for several minutes, he finally let out a sigh and slumped back in his chair -- she had won, of course, as he could think of no rational reply. Although it sounded well and good in his head, admitting aloud that he was steamed over Hermione betraying Hogwarts by fraternizing with the enemy was something absurd. Besides, Ginny would only bring up how he asked Fleur to the Yule Ball.  
  
"Maybe you should just ask her about him, if you're so concerned." Pursing her lips at one corner, she offered him a questioning sort of look, before rising from the table and lifting her empty plate. "If _I_ were Hermione, I don't think I'd much care for a boy who couldn't pronounce my name," she mumbled, before heading off towards the kitchen.  
  
Without noticing, his plate went up for grabs between his twin brothers after it was pushed further onto the table. The concerned look from his mother was completely missed as Ron sulkingly mulled over Ginny's advice. It was thoroughly uncanny how a girl of her age could figure out his problems, find a solution to them, then throw him off by giving him the option of going for it or doing absolutely nothing. Honestly, if Ginny had just taken a moment to be like their mother, yell at him until she was blue in the face, and _order_ him to talk to Hermione . . . he would have done it, out of fear and lack of any other option, without a second thought. Yet, she had more or less given him the option of talking to Hermione or letting the sheer _idea _of Viktor Krum haunt him for the rest of his life.  
  
Pushing his chair fully away from the table, Ron stood and made his way out of the dining area and towards the staircase to climb the many flights of steps to his attic room. Almost completely to the top, he heard (over the moaning of the ghoul which haunted the uppermost portion of the house) Ginny announce, "Mum, the Grangers are here!"


	2. Haven of Cannons and Toads

  
  
  


The _nearly_ attic bedroom with walls and slanting roof adorned in bright orange colors, showing ample support for his favorite Quidditch team, was hardly the haven he hoped for as soon as Ron was aware that the Grangers were within the Burrow, his home. The vaguely frayed and faded Chudley Cannons blankets piled messily atop his bed were not nearly so comforting as they looked when he flopped upon them in vain attempt to retreat from the questions filling his head. _Ginny'll get hers_, he thought, perhaps pondering to embarrass her in front of Harry as soon as they were on the Hogwarts Express the next morning. _Though_, he thought still, _how could just talking to Hermione be compared to embarrassing his little sister in front of her crush of all crushes?_ There was nothing at all similar between him and Hermione and Ginny and Harry -- Ginny just had a crush on Harry, whereas he . . . well, he . . . didn't have any idea in the world what was going on with him on the subject of Hermione.  
  
"Traitor," he mumbled into the blanket beneath him which was decorated with two Cs and a speeding cannonball, attempting almost at once to drown out Ginny's voice from his head, repeating the exact word that had just fallen from his lips. _How can you be upset with her for being a 'traitor' when you did the exact same thing, Ronald Weasley? Or are you just upset that she got to go to the Yule Ball with Krum and you were turned down by that French veela?_ . . . Honestly, he couldn't tell if it was Ginny or himself yelling at him, but whoever it was _did_ have a point.  
  
But that _wasn't_ the point at all -- it was the same argument Hermione had put up the night of the Yule Ball when they returned to the Gryffindor common room.  
  
  
_"I can't believe you went to the Yule Ball with that ... that ... Bulgarian creep!" Ron muttered slightly above his typical tone of muttering as he followed Hermione into the Gryffindor common room with several others -- all of which went hurriedly towards the dormitories, sensing another row by the thickening of the air around them . . . like an ominous storm.  
  
Hermione whirled around once they were past the tunnel leading into the common room, glaring at him with nearly blazing eyes. "Bulgarian creep? Honestly, Ron, when are you going to grow up?" she asked, more shrilly and demanding than her usual inquiries.  
  
"As soon as you apologize for being a traitor, Hermione! How could you do that?" It was the first thing that came to him as explanation of his anger and apparent immaturity over the subject. Even as it spoke it aloud, seeds of doubt were planted in the back of his mind -- was that really why he was so upset? It sounded pretty well and good in his head, but voicing it made him sound ... downright stupid.  
  
"Honestly!" she repeated her favorite exclamation of frustration, rolling her eyes at the sheer stupidity of the statement. "If I'm a traitor for going to the Yule Ball with Viktor, then you should be a traitor for asking Fleur, Ron."  
  
His cheeks and ears flushed pink, then steadily crimson, at the mention of his foolish behavior of several days earlier. "Oh, that's not fair, Hermione! You know that girls' half Veela ... she -- I mean ... it's impossible to resist her!"  
  
This statement only served to fuel Hermione's anger until her own face was not only full of color, but also contorted into a look of sheer loathing. Somehow, however, she managed to control the pace of her voice, as if she was attempting to be the better of the two in the argument. "Viktor might not be part Veela, but he's certainly more irresistible that some of the boys here!" Though, the control of her tone was lost after the beginning of the sentence, until she was all but shrieking at him.  
  
Ron immediately recognized that as an attack upon him, but had no idea in the world how to counter it . . . but with an insult of his own. "I don't like it Hermione, you and Krum! He's probably just using you to find out what Harry's doing for the second task!"  
  
After her own shriek, Hermione had turned towards the stairs leading to up to the dormitories, but Ron's insult caused her to whirl about on him once more, this time causing her perfectly styled hair to come loose from its bun and fall about her face in partially slick, partially bushy clumps. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Ronald Weasley! I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum because he asked me. Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?" she demanded, leveling him with a stare.  
  
"Oh, yeah? What's that?" he yelled back, staring so intently back at her that he never heard the door to the porthole swing open behind him.  
  
"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does and not as a last resort!" And, at that, she turned and stormed up to the girl's dormitory._  
  
  
Even at the memory of the heated argument -- one of the most heated they had ever had, which was saying a lot -- Ron felt himself again turning into the goldfish he had been that Christmas night; thunderstruck, sputtering. Then, without any prior warning, he began to question not only himself, but his motives and excuses: _who really missed the point_? Rolling onto his back to prevent further smothering against the tattered Chudley Cannons blanket, deep blue eyes stared up at the dusty ceiling of his bedroom and what little of the posters (moving uninterrupted by his plight, as if it was just a normal day) he could see upon his walls. In the distance, the ghoul rattled a pipe and footsteps sounded on the staircase.  
  
_Ginny and Hermione_, he thought at the sound of creaking and light thudding upon the fairly rickety stairs leading to the several floors of the Weasley house. Listening intently, he waited for the two pairs of petite feet to pause at the third landing and open the squeaking door to Ginny's room. Hermione always slept in Ginny's room when she stayed over -- though it had only been once that she did so -- and, he suspected, she would be doing so tonight.  
  
As he guessed, the footsteps paused at the third landing and there was a mighty squeak as the door to Ginny's room was opened. There were several more sounds (some from Ginny's room, others from the ghoul above his), mostly of the large trunk he was sure Hermione was placing in Ginny's room, before the door squeaked to a close. Ron had expected to hear nothing else, save for some soft clattering or snippets of conversation from the kitchen (as, generally, almost anything done or said could be heard throughout the Burrow), but he was quite alarmed to catch the sound of two pairs of feet continuing up the stairs.  
  
All at once it occurred to Ron that Ginny and Hermione were about to burst into his room at any moment, while he was sprawled over his bed and partially entangled in sheets and blankets. It was Ginny's doing, no doubt, as she probably suggested -- _Let's go find Ron!_ or something similarly annoying. Disentangling himself from the Chudley Cannons sheet set and blanket, he practically leapt from the bed and hurried towards the nearest mirror (which let out a lengthy shriek of laughter at seeing his mussed hair) to smooth down his hair and brush the wrinkles from his shirt. Suddenly, for a strange reason he could not even begin to place, he didn't want to look like he had just gotten up and threw on some clothes (though he had) when Hermione showed up.  
  
Instead of bursting into his room as Virginia usually did, there was a gentle knock upon the door before the knob was twisted over and the barrier was creaked partially open. "You didn't go back to sleep on a beautiful day like this, did you?" Hermione's voice filled the small, messy room at the fifth landing.  
  
Ron, having more expected Ginny than anyone else, started and turned to stare towards the door. "Er, no. I was just ... uh, checking on my toad." The toad, which was overly large and lethargic, seemed to be sleeping in it's tank. From somewhere behind the door and Hermione, he heard Ginny stifle a bit of laughter. It was enough to drive him insane, her _giggling_, but it proved just enough for him to be able to screw up his courage, move over to the door, and open it the rest of the way. "Hey, Hermione," he greeted her from his quite apparent height advantage.  
  
"Hey, Ron," she returned, not seeming at all to mind having to glance up from her height disadvantage or the fact that Ginny had turned into a regular giggle box behind her. "How's the toad?"  
  
It was giving him a twitch, the giggling, to the point that he would do just about anything to get away from it -- and perhaps his overly intuitive sister had already guessed that her behavior would have such an effect upon him. "F-Fine," he stammered after a moment of glaring over the top of Hermione's head towards Ginny, whose face was bright red from giggling, both hands clamped over her mouth in glee. He had no idea what was so amusing to her, but he wasn't about to give her the pleasure of continuing her giggle-fest at their (or mainly _his_) expense. "Er, Hermione, you said it was a beautiful day?"  
  
"Yes?" came a rather innocent reply, making it seem almost as if the entire setup _was_, indeed, a setup.  
  
Again, Ron threw a glance towards Ginny over the top of Hermione's head. It seemed that his question had caused her to catch her breath and hold it, as if waiting for the entire world to explode. "Um, want to go outside and ... do something?" he finished, blue eyes darting back to the focus of his question. He felt his cheeks and ears flush pink, however, as he realized how vague his inquiry was -- not to mention how juvenile.  
  
Ginny cleared her throat, turned, and bounded down the stairs in a manner that nearly threatened to bring the entire staircase down (and caused Percy, who had since retreated to his bedroom, to call from behind the door to chide her).  
  
"Sure, Ron. Ginny already showed me the garden when I was here last year, but I wouldn't mind seeing it again."


	3. A Promise of a Blue Sky

  
  
"I thought it was going to rain today," Hermione stated simply as they stepped from the back door of the Weasley's house and into the garden, which was laden overly much with weeds and overgrown grass. Crookshanks, who she had released from his carrying case moments before, darted past their feet and under a nearby bush on another hunt for gnomes. "I was surprised to see the sun shining this morning when we left."  
  
Ron, honestly, had a million different things running through his head at the moment and could pick none of them to say, while Hermione Granger walked beside of him through the Burrow's poor excuse for a garden and talked about the weather. It made it seem like they had only known each other for a few weeks and it was an awkward situation to find her visiting his home. Nevertheless, he was inclined to agree, "Yeah, it's nice out," though instantly thought it wasn't quite the thing to say.  
  
After his statement, which had honestly sounded a little more forced than he had intended, they walked through the garden in silence, treading over thick grass badly in need of cutting and passing by the large pond haphazardly positioned among a small clump of gnarled trees and weeds -- at one time, it had probably been beautiful. About to mention that Fred and George had once tricked him into believing there was a squid living in the pond (after their first year at Hogwarts and the discovery of the squid living in the lake on the grounds), Ron soon came to the conclusion that it wasn't probably the type of conversation Hermione was interested in ... nor the type he wanted to have, actually, as it would probably lead to her explaining something she had read in a book somewhere about Magical Creatures of the Water.  
  
It didn't take terribly long for the two of them to reach the end of the garden and subsequently the low wall which surrounded it, constructed of stone and nearly covered with moss. Turning his back to what lay beyond -- fields, then the village of Ottery St. Catchpole -- Ron leaned against the crumbling, but sturdy, wall that came just above his waist. Hermione, however, became interested in the fields in the distance and leaned almost completely over the stone barrier to gaze at them.  
  
"I don't think anything's grown out there for a while," Ron noted, suddenly quite aware not only of the disheveled state of the Burrow, but also the garden and the village near it. His house, however, was not as embarrassing as his family's financial situation, since it was _home_.  
  
"There's wild flowers growing there," Hermione noted, seeming rather interested in the prospect of flowers despite how much she gave the impression that books and learning was for more important and exciting that doing something out of doors. "Could we -- "  
  
" -- go over there?" he finished the inquiry for her, though he had not bothered to even glance over his shoulder towards the field. "Sure, if you're not scared to climb the wall," as he finished the statement, he couldn't help but grin, knowing what her reaction would be. Then, placing his palms upon the top of the wall, minding the thin layer of growth over the top, Ron hoisted himself up and on to the top of the stony foundation to sit, offering a hand to help her up onto it, as well.  
  
Hermione gave him a mockingly angered look. "I think after facing Devil's Snare, winged keys, a living chess board, being turned into a cat, being petrified by a Basilisk, discovering a werewolf in the school, being scared to death by a Boggart, then placed under a spell and into the midst of Merpeople in the middle of the lake -- "  
  
At the mention of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, during which she was the one thing Viktor Krum would miss the most, Ron visibly stiffened, his hand faltering until she grasped it (obviously unaware of his change in emotion), missing the entire rest of the list of dangerous situations she had been in since beginning school at Hogwarts.  
  
" -- I _think_ I can handle a climb over a _low garden wall_, Ronald Weasley," she finished, settling herself into a sitting position next to him. The smile which had formed upon her lips faded a bit as she noticed his own was no longer visible upon his features. Though, just as she was about to ask if she had said something wrong, it returned.  
  
"In a skirt?"  
  
"_What_?" she looked almost offended by the inquiry, until she realized that she was, indeed, wearing a knee-length skirt. "Oh, honestly. It's a _garden wall_. I've done worse in my school uniform." With that, she nonchalantly twisted herself about to jump from the wall, landing on the other side with a nearly haughty smile.  
  
Ron followed suit, landing from the 'jump' (which was really much less than that, due to his height) beside her. "Gee, Hermione, you're turning into a regular tomboy. What's next? Burning books?" Not waiting a second for her response, he dashed off towards their intended destination of the field. Mentioning burning books to Hermione Granger was almost as dangerous as accusing Lucius Malfoy of being a squib to his face -- though, thankfully, Hermione wouldn't be inclined to use an Unforgivable Curse in response.  
  
Within a matter of moments, Ron found himself amidst a field of knee-high wild flowers, having sped his pace to a jog when he heard Hermione attempting to cast a leg-locker curse upon him (which was misfired purposefully, he was sure). With so little as a second thought, he stooped down and grabbed a bunch of the white and yellow flowers, plucking them from the ground. "You can't curse me, Hermione, I haven't apologized yet," he called over his shoulder as she came panting up behind him.  
  
"Ron, you _barely_ apologized for inadvertently making me a snack for a troll, how am I supposed to believe you'll apologize for a jo -- " Her jovial sentence trailed off as he turned and presented her with the shabby bouquet of wild flowers, many still with roots and dirt at the ends.  
  
"So, maybe," he began, panting slightly from the jog, quite unaware of how he was going to word the sentence, as it was forming in his mind at that very moment, sounding far too stupid to be said. However, Ginny had accidentally planted something in his head . . . something that was at that moment causing him to disregard anything _he_ thought to be stupid, since everything he usually said to Hermione came out wrong due to his second-guessing and rewording. "Maybe ... I'll apologize for that, instead. For all the times I've inadvertently made you a snack for a troll, or ignored your warnings, or got upset for being corrected, or ... " he trailed off momentarily, looking down at the flowers in his right hand, " ... accused you of being traitor, when I should have been yelling at myself for not using my eyes."  
  
Hermione was apparently speechless for some time to the point that she could only take the flowers from his grasp and absently brush the clumps of dirt matted on the roots of a select few of the long-stemmed blossoms. "You're still on about that?" she finally inquired, almost as if she didn't realize the latter part of his statement was a compliment. "What's it matter now, Ron? It's over, Viktor's gone to Bulgaria, there's no more tournament to think about. -- ... Maybe I was being a traitor," she added a sort of 'white flag' to the end of her statement as the usual sign that she didn't want to drudge up old arguments. It would have been a shame to ruin such a beautiful day.  
  
"_You weren't_," he said quickly, pressingly. "I'm sorry if I _ever_ made you think that. I was the one being a traitor." This was also said quickly, before Ron even realized what it meant. Then, slowly, it began to dawn on him and he continued at length, "_I_ was the one turning against my friend over something that was my fault. It was _my _problem ... and I blamed it on you."  
  
Again, he had left her speechless during a pause, though he was sure that his words had had the right effect, as she was blinking rapidly to ward off tears and merely peering at the flowers he had given her.  
  
But, that was where he faltered. Rubbing absently, insecurely at the back of his (also freckled-spotted) neck as if the answer to all the emotions welling within him was there, Ron glanced up towards the sky, looking for sometime into the blue depths for an answer, as well, having not immediately found it within himself.  
  
The bushy-haired girl beside him had remained silent until she noticed his attention had wavered to the sky, to which she also looked and felt inspired to comment, "I've never seen a bluer sky," all at once becoming sad, as thoughts began to fill her mind. "When I think of the dark times," she whispered after a moment of sorting out a few things in her head, " ... all those years ago, I don't think of it being _ever _sunny or the sky _ever_ being blue. You-Know-Who has been quiet since the end of last term, but tomorrow we go back to Hogwarts. Ron, do you think something will happen?"  
  
The answer was obvious -- _of course something will happen, Hermione, it's inevitable. The Dark Lord has arisen and called his followers to him. It's only a matter of time because he comes for Harry and anyone else who stands in his way._ Yet, he hadn't the heart to tell her that eventually the dark times would come again. He hadn't fully admitted it to himself and couldn't bear to ever think of telling her such a harsh truth.  
  
"Do you think, when it's all over, we'll be able to see a sky this blue again?" she asked, barely above a whisper, still looking up to the brilliant, almost blindingly blue, sky. Her eyes, the color of cinnamon to match her hair, were filled with tears, although her voice was almost unwaveringly calm.  
  
"I think," Ron began, looking from the beauty of the sky to something he all at once found more beautiful still, as if he had been wandering through paradise at night -- her face ... her _eyes_, "that I can _promise _you we will." Even if it was a promise to protect her from all the evils of the world, he suddenly felt that there was nothing he could refuse her, most especially when her eyes were filled with tears.  
  
Unexpectedly, Hermione dropped the bouquet and threw her arms around him in a tight hug. This time, however, she neither sobbed on his shoulder nor did he feel the need to awkwardly pet he head. Instead, he did what felt perfectly natural to do and found himself in the sweetest embrace he had ever shared with another.  
  
"Hermione," he whispered against the cinnamon hair, from which wafted the nectareous, dulcet scent of vanilla, which came to just below his chin. At last, it had come to him -- at last, he knew what to say. "If I had realized a little earlier than now ... I would have asked you to the Yule Ball first -- before Viktor Krum or Neville or anyone else who might have asked you. I _should_ have asked you the moment I knew about it. I _should_ have realized a long time ago that you're not just a girl -- ... you're the girl I _love_."


End file.
